


Flightless Bird

by jomipay



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Earhart being a badass, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lovers To Enemies, Penetrative Sex, Smut and Angst, cw for alcoholism, referenced character death, there is a fair bit of angst, what did happen between Earhart and Wilde?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jomipay/pseuds/jomipay
Summary: “Because he’s a Meritocratic tool!” Amelia shouted.Really, Zolf had seemed reasonable, she couldn’t believe her misfortune. She crossed her arms, trying to look as defiant as was possible while laying in bed and at least fifteen pounds underweight.“Was that literally the only thing?” Zolf spluttered.She was surprised Zolf had been working for the Meritocrats before, but she was too busy thinking about other things to give any spare thought to being mad at him for it.Whatever happened between you and Wilde.It is far from the only thing.Oscar Wilde first met Amelia Earhart in the middle of a bar.
Relationships: Amelia Earhart/Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Flightless Bird

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited to post this!!! I hope you have a good time reading it. Goes up until right before episode 174. 
> 
> Thank you to [HoloXam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoloXam/pseuds/HoloXam) for the wonderful beta and to [makesometime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime) for the cheerleading and handholding!

Oscar Wilde first met Amelia Earhart in the middle of a bar. He was on a new assignment for the meritocrats, supposed to be shutting down illicit supply lines. The locale he currently found himself in was a bustling port city, a major stop for airships and seafaring vessels alike and he had no contacts in the city—something he was unaccustomed to and that put him a bit on edge. He was still in the process of working out how best to blend in.

There was a cell of Harlequins known to be around somewhere but they had proven infuriatingly deceptive thus far. The suspicion was that this city served as a major stop on a supply line, some place lots of goods traded hands and where high profile, wanted individuals went to be disappeared. He hadn’t seen any sign of it yet. Just rowdy airship crews and salty sailors getting too drunk to stand up straight.

He was on his second night setting up in the same bar. The bar was not a posh affair—dingy, dank, and dirty, full of both locals and those passing through on business. It was very loud and not the sort of place he would generally go to relax, but he’d been on his own for so long. Longer than usual, and while he wasn’t genuinely close to many people, he still craved proximity. It was nice being surrounded by voices, by people with exciting lives yelling and blowing off steam as he observed and hoped to overhear something worthwhile. Most people had a pint in at least one of their hands at most times. Oscar gestured to the burly man behind the bar, and got himself a pint of ale. It was best to keep up appearances, even if he much preferred wine, and though it was cheap, the ale wasn’t bad.

It was hard to catch more than snatches of conversation at a time. It wasn’t of paramount importance that he try to get any worthwhile information tonight. He sat at the bar for a time, idly scanning the room. Gods but everyone looked like a prospect. His skin buzzed. It’d been too long without the touch of another. It always made him antsy. He caught the eye of a gnomish woman as she elbowed her way towards the bar. 

She’d been here the night before as well, surrounded by what he assumed was her crew, considering that she’d been wearing a captain’s hat almost half her size the night before.It was notably missing tonight. She smiled at him and it was wide and toothy and Oscar smiled back, tipping his head politely. He studied her briefly as she approached. She was short in stature, with her head only coming up to his mid thigh. Her features were sharp, pointed and clearly gnomish. Her hair was cut severely short and was tousled unartfully on the top of her head. She had a wicked smile. Oscar had always been helpless for the sort of smiles that could promise him mischief and the expression in her eyes told him she was promising him plenty. What she lacked in stature she more than made up for with confidence and swagger.

He turned his attention back to the bar as she hopped up onto the stool next to him and ordered an ale. Oscar noted with amusement that the ale she ordered was full size and she took an impressive pull from it before turning to him on her stool, elbows leaning against the bar top.

“Are you just planning on sitting on your perch all night?”

Oscar sipped from his drink. “Perhaps it’s been a long day and perching is all I’ve got the energy for.”

She was silent for a beat before turning to full force of her dangerous smile on him.

“Haven’t seen you around here before.” Her eyes were wild and her light short hair stuck out in every direction, like it hadn’t seen a hairbrush in the better part of a week.

Oscar grinned at her, not missing the way she tried to subtly rake her eyes up and down his form. He took another swig from his own ale. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t been around.”

“No, no pretty sure I would have remembered you.” She smiled at him coyly. “Because if you’d been around before, surely I would have made a pass at you by now.”

Oscar avoided choking on his sip of ale, but it was a close thing. 

The gnomish woman leaned closer to him atop her perch on the stool. She placed a finger to her chin, tapping it as if trying to recall something. “Unless of course I was already plastered at the time...I’ve never made a pass at you before, right? Be a shame to not remember it.”

Oscar allowed his lips to curl upwards with amusement. “Unless you’re including our present conversation…” he paused, waiting for her to make an indication either way. 

She didn’t. It would not hurt to get on the good side of a local. And she was attractive, in that dangerous and wild way he adored and never got enough of from London high society.

“What are you drinking? And more importantly, what is your name, you lovely creature.”

She couldn’t hide the satisfaction that crossed her face. “Earhart,” she said, “Amelia Earhart.”

Oscar offered her a hand and she shook it, not releasing it right away. His hand engulfed hers and her eyes traced the curl of his fingers around her palm. “I’m hoping a handshake isn’t all you’re willing to offer me?” She pulled her hand away, slowly, dragging her small fingers across his palm as she did so. 

“ _ Is _ that all you’re willing to offer me, Mr…?” She paused, waiting for his answer. And here he thought she was going to proposition him without even asking for his name.

“Wilde.” Oscar replied. He didn’t have a reason to hide it, not right now. He leaned in to whisper in her ear and did not miss the way her breath caught in her throat, though she made an effort to hide it. 

It was easy enough to get a room in the inn next to the tavern, and Amelia pulled him through the door with authority. Relations between species of different sizes could be tricky to navigate, but this was not Oscar’s first time, and from the way Amelia lead him around, shoving him back on the bed before straddling him and working immediately on the fastenings of his trousers, he would wager a significant amount of coin that it was not hers either. It had been a little while since he’d taken anyone to bed. He was hard already, aching. She kissed viciously and it synergized with the spare neurotic energy that was always kept stored away whenever he was out as an agent. Perfect. This was perfect. He wanted something sharp tonight, someone to nip at his lips, his neck, without being particularly bothered about how hard they were doing it, someone that would just take what they wanted from him. 

She hopped back off the bed, tugging his trousers and pants off and over his feet. She stared at his stiff cock with blatant appreciation. Oscar was on the larger side, even for human standards, and Amelia bit her bottom lip and looked up at him with an expression so confident and heated that it very much put to rest the question of whether or not she had done this before. 

She climbed back over his thighs and tugged the bottom of his shirt up as far as she could reach until he stripped it off. She took a moment to appraise the newly revealed skin and Oscar’s head buzzed pleasantly with pride at the pleased and hungry look on her face as she examined his body. 

“Please, allow me to assist you.”

Oscar fingered the hem of her shirt and slid his hands over her abdomen to start working on the buttons.

“Such a gentleman, lucky me.”

His hand very nearly covered her abdomen and he flattened it against her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt. Her eyes darkened and he held back his smile. He was in the practice of quickly discerning what lovers wanted from him in bed, both as a skill he could leverage and because it brought him genuine pleasure to give someone else precisely what they wanted. She liked how much bigger he was than her, and he would make use of this knowledge. 

He made quick work of her shirt and lifted her, turning them and easing her to lie flat on her back. He loomed over her, making her as aware of his larger size as possible. He mouthed down her neck and over the slight swells of her breasts, swirling his tongue around one dusty pink nipple before very gently nipping at the other. She moaned and he could feel the tremor that went through her body under his hands as he kissed down her stomach and relieved her of her trousers and pants, tapping her hip to get her to arch her back enough to shimmy the rest of her clothing off. 

He came up for another kiss, filthy and full of tongue. He cradled her jaw in one hand, splaying his fingers over the side of her face and dragging them down her neck as he mouthed and tongued over it and her collarbones. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and tugged at the other with his fingers while sliding a hand over her warm skin to wrap around one of her hips. Warm waves of satisfaction were rolling over the back of his neck and down his spine as she moaned loudly, unabashedly. He waited until she started to really squirm under him before he moved on, kissing quickly down her stomach and sliding down the sheets to settle between her thighs.

Oscar stared into her vibrant bright eyes as he spread her thighs. He could almost entirely encircle the complete width of each one in a single hand. He took a moment to appraise her, spread out and panting under him, face flushed and eyes dancing with lust and anticipation. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. The picture she made was delectable. Her eyes tracked the motion and she arched her back and extended her neck, grinning wide and dangerous. He mouthed at the inside of a thigh, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of her. He nibbled up and up, sharper and sharper, letting her groans wash over him until he reached her core and pressed an open mouthed kiss over her, working his tongue over her clit. Her hips bucked and he let her grind against his face before he wrapped his hands around her hips and stilled them. He held her still, meeting her eyes before burying his face in her, licking into her, lapping at her slick, opening her with his tongue before dragging it back up to her clit, using heavy, even strokes before closing his lips around it and sucking gently. 

Amelia strained against his grip, gasping and moaning. Oscar shivered pleasantly as the sounds of her enjoying his attention floated to his ears. He loved this, loved making his lover feel good, loved doing it for no other reason but enjoyment, something that was not always the case. He groaned and hummed his contentment and when he slid a finger into her a broken moan was drawn from her throat. She was hot and tight around him, her slick coated his finger instantly and she opened readily, taking a second, and shortly after that, a third finger with ease. He lapped around his fingers, letting the taste and scent of her fill his senses. His mouth was covered in slick, jaw and chin covered in his own spit and her arousal. When her moans became more urgent and desperate, he released his grip on her hip and cupped a breast, teasing at the nipple with his thumb as she thrust against his face and fingers. She spasmed around his fingers as she cried out with her release, furiously working her hips and riding it to completion. When she stilled he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, smeared with slick, and withdrew his fingers. 

She panted through her grin and made a ‘come hither’ motion with her fingers, drawing him upwards to meld their lips together. She chased the taste of herself out of his mouth, tangling her tongue with his and reaching for his cock. Her hand struggled to wrap entirely around it. She pulled away to stare at it as she worked at him, long and slow strokes while she bit her lip. 

“Do you want to ride me?” Her smile widened and her teeth sunk deeper into her lip as she nodded. 

He nuzzled into her neck and mouthed down to her collarbone, nibbling along it and groaning as she worked him, spreading the fluid dripping from his head around with her thumb. 

“Want you inside of me,” she breathed into his neck. 

He slid his hand down her stomach, over her hips, dancing his fingers around her lips before pressing two fingers into her, pushing in and out in a steady rhythm. She tossed her head back giving him access to nip at her throat as he worked on stretching her. He tucked a third finger into her. The fourth was a bit more of a stretch and he slid it in slowly. There was no such thing as too much lubricant in this situation. He clicked the fingers of his clean hand and suddenly the fingers of his other hand were coated with a slippery substance he used to ease the fourth finger in. 

She pulled in a shuddering breath. “That’s a neat trick.”

Her voice was uneven, threaded with need. He pulled away from her neck to watch her face carefully, looking for any sign of discomfort. Amelia panted and grinned manically and, finding no discomfort there, he thrust in and out, spreading his fingers within her, gently stretching her bit by bit. He took cues from the cadence of her moans and the small changes in her expression to find the best places within her to rub his fingers against. 

She stopped him with a hand on his wrist and pulled away, pushing him to lie on his back so she could climb astride him. He gazed down at the sight of her on him, eyes instinctively going to the site of his brand, currently carefully hidden. Gods but he hated the stupid thing. The meritocrats had made it clear when they hired him that part of them doing so was his seduction capabilities, and marking him just served to make it more difficult. He thought darkly that perhaps that was the point. Even when he did something for himself, even when the mark was hidden, it was still there. Everything he did was ultimately in service to them. He shuddered with satisfaction at seeing it gone, seeing nothing but his naked hip and a beautiful creature sat astride him. It spread her thighs wide. They were toned and muscular, evidence of an active life, rippling as she tensed them. She grabbed his cock and rubbed it against her entrance. 

“Ah,” He gasped as her slick covered his head, as the warmth of her body teased him. “Do we need—” He began to ask before Amelia cut him off. 

“No, no. We’re good.” 

He kept himself perfectly still, letting her go at her own pace as she began to sink down. They both swore as the tip of his cock slipped inside of her. Even with the thorough preparation and the extra lubrication, it took effort and a steady and persistent push from Amelia, who was breathing deeply to keep herself relaxed enough for the task. Oscar breathed in through his nose and released it slowly through his mouth. Gods but she felt incredible, the hot velvet grip of her body bringing his arousal flaring to the surface.

  
  


She moved her hips in little motions, taking him a bit deeper every time until finally her body had taken everything it could. She stilled, taking a moment to adjust. Oscar did not move, he merely panted and gasped with each clench of her body. When she began to move, she threw her head back and moaned through a toothy grin, expression ecstatic. It was infectious, he felt laughter bubbling up in his chest and he relieved a bit of its pressure with a smile of his own. 

She braced herself with a hand on his thigh behind her and began to move herself up and down, thighs flexing, each movement of her hips driving his arousal up another tick. He’d kept his hands fisted in the sheets at his side, but he moved them to her hips again as she moved, seeking more connection, more touch. His hands followed along with her up and down motions as she rode him and he began to move his hips to meet her downward thrusts. He moaned openly through smiling lips. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this, how much he needed the touch of someone else, how much he needed to make someone else feel good. 

Her moans made little sparks of joy ricochet around his body. She was flushed down to her heaving chest and he thrust his hips more intently as she began to falter.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She chanted as she clenched unevenly around him. He brought a thumb to her clit and rubbed it in tight circles. His pleasure built to a peak with her whimpers. 

“Oh, gods, you’re going to make me come. How should I do it, what do you like best?”

She gasped, spasming around him. “Inside. Inside me. Come in me, Wilde.” 

That was all he needed to get over the edge. He pulsed into her, groaning with the pleasure rolling over him. Amelia moaned as he filled her, moving frantically against his hand. 

When he was spent, he took a moment to catch his breath before gesturing to her. She gingerly detached herself from his softening cock.

“Come here.” He breathed, urging her forward with a hand on her hip, until he positioned her over his face. He held her there with both hands on her hips and licked intently at her clit, tasting the mix of her slick and his spend together until she shook within his grasp and cried her release into the room. 

  
  
  


He made just enough noise getting dressed in the morning to stir her from sleep. She grumbled at him, hair a mess and scowl on her face. 

“Work to do, my dear.”

She smirked at him. “You know where to find me.”

Oscar spent the next day slinking around town. He made infuriatingly little progress. He was used to the Harlequins being less careful, more obvious in their movements. The town was full of so many privateers it would take ages to sort through them to figure out what his best candidates were. He still had no contacts, save for Amelia, which he would be avoiding using as such unless it became strictly necessary. If he took someone to bed with him for pleasure, he did his best to ensure it stayed that way, devoid of ulterior motives. He didn’t enjoy it nearly as much when he took to bed with someone with another purpose in mind. He was always on guard, never trusting, letting them use his body while he used the attraction they had to it for leverage. Her name did come up while he was out gathering information. She was a revered airship pilot, with a reputation for success in the face of impossibility. 

He made it to the bar late, close to last call. She was in the corner, surrounded by what he assumed had to be her crew. He never asked questions, not when someone was just for him. Her companions had thinned out, some swaying on their feet, looking a bit too drunk to stand. She was as clear eyed as ever, pint the size of her head held in one small hand as she caught his eye and winked. 

He had been tired, but one look at the spark and fiendish fae energy in her eyes had shocked life back into him. They stumbled into the same room and he stripped her layers, hungry for her sharp and demanding touch, desperate for the way she made his nerves sing. He lifted her when the last of her clothes were gone. She was light, so light and he pressed her to the wall, slinging her legs over his shoulders and going right for where she was warm and wet, humming with contentment as he tasted her. He licked and sucked at her, moved his tongue over her until her thighs clamped and shuddered around his head, fists pulling at his hair.

In the morning, she stirred as he left again. She peered out from under the covers at the still dark light coming in through the window and then back at him. 

“Early riser.” He said, sitting on the bed beside her and smiling. 

“‘M not. You’re fucking crazy.” She grumbled, just barely coherent.

“Sleep well.”

He suspected she was already asleep again by the time he had reached the door and slipped out. 

  
  
  


His lack of sleep finally caught up with him the last morning. He woke and there was light streaming in through the windows. Amelia was staring at him, not intently, just studying him. 

“Woke up at a reasonable time today.”

He stretched and scanned the room for his clothes. 

“Last day in town.” He threw the covers off and caught the way her eyes swept appreciatively over his body as he went to gather his clothing. “For now.”

He heard the covers rustling behind him and the soft thud of her feet hitting the floor as she hopped off the bed to gather her own clothing. 

“What is it that you do, Wilde? What brings you into town.”

He buttoned his shirt and glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of her delicate shoulder blades moving under her skin as she reached over her head to tug her shirt on. 

“I’m a writer. A journalist. I have semi-regular business around here.” 

The easiest lies to tell were the ones that did not require any lies at all.

She snorted. “Semi-regular, huh? Well it just so happens I have some pretty ‘semi-regular business’ around here, too.”

He couldn’t help the way his lips turned up at the corners. “Is that right? Well, perhaps I’ll be fortunate enough for us to turn this into a habit.” He knelt to lace his shoes and mentally tracked the pad of her feet as they moved toward him. 

“If you play your cards right.”

He glanced up when she was in front of him, shirt half buttoned and in nothing else but her pants.

“And how do I do that, praytell, my dear?” He reached out, stroked a hand from the outside of her shin to the inside of her thigh. She shivered and bit her lip and he’d always been weak for beautiful, wild things. He pushed her back to the bed, lifted her and moved her underwear out of the way with a finger as he nipped up her inner thighs before putting his mouth on her and tonguing at her clit.

“That’s,” she gasped, shoving her hands into his tangled hair, “that’s a good fucking start.”

  
  


***

There was a kind of sadness Amelia felt whenever her ship broke through the cloud cover, like she was being wrenched from her home. Her ship was her home. Solid ground had never been kind to her, not the way the sky was. Port was good for two things: alcohol and getting paid. Well, port was good for three things now. 

Her stomach did a pathetic little flip and she scowled. As if that would chase away the ache between her legs or the way she had touched herself this morning, stuffing herself full of her fingers and not coming anywhere near close enough to the stretch she craved.

She fingered the coin in her pocket as the city came into view below her. It burned hot against her skin and she resisted yanking it from her pocket immediately, instead pulling it out with feigned disinterest, heart pounding as she read the elegant script she now recognized as his.  _ ‘Meet me for dinner.’  _ She rubbed the surface of it and the words disappeared. Seconds later new words scratched themselves into the surface as she watched.  _ ‘Fair Isle, 7.’ _

It was already cooling as she tucked it back into her pocket. Fair Isle was posher than she normally cared for, but they had good whiskey. Wilde had good taste in whiskey. 

_ ‘Let me take you somewhere else.’ _

_ She laughed at him. He never pretended he wasn’t posh. She gestured to the grimy pub around her. ‘What, not a fan of the wine selection?’ _

_ His breath was hot in her ear. ‘How do you feel about whiskey?’ _

_ She had not felt out of place next to him. She allowed herself to be pulled into his lap at the bar, let him tip the glass against her lips and pour the amber fluid down her throat to settle molten in her stomach.  _

Her crew was used to her stalking off when they made port here. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in any port. She made a habit of keeping her relationships with her crew professional until they had been around long enough to shift seamlessly in her mind and heart to family. But there was a need, a hunger in her skin that her crew, her family couldn’t satisfy and she always started to itch for touch, heated and rough contact, when they’d been in the air for too long. It was the one thing the sky couldn’t sate for her. 

In the last port it had been a human man, with short dark brown hair and a burly build. He had been okay, but not enough. Not as pretty, not as filthy, not as talented with his tongue. The dwarven woman she’d bedded on her most recent trip north had been very talented with her tongue, and strong. It had been a good lay, but it still hadn’t been what she wanted. She wanted sharp hip bones bruising her thighs, chestnut hair that curled and tangled under her hands when it became damp with sweat. 

Most people stayed out of her way in general, but especially when there was purpose in her steps as there was now, on a mission to feed her starving skin. Her manner and the gun hanging from her hip were enough to keep most people from trying their luck, even if they didn’t know who she was or have the benefit of her reputation as a warning. She was a street over from the pub when someone fell into step next to her. One corner of her mouth lifted up in a smile and a hand came to rest, large and warm over her back. He ushered her in and they sat in a dark back corner where she promptly climbed into his lap and claimed his mouth. He groaned into it, letting her slide her tongue into his mouth as he pulled her closer by wrapping his long fingered hands around her hips, sliding one under the holster for her gun. He pushed her gently back and mouthed along her neck and up to her ear. 

“Missed me?” She could hear the stupid smile in his voice.

“You wish.” She said, getting off of him and rolling her eyes. She was acutely aware of just how much of a lie that was by the way her body had already responded. “Go get me a drink, you miserable peacock.”

He smirked over his shoulder at her as he went and did as he was told. He was wearing a bright blue jacket and a deep green waistcoat underneath it and she liked to pretend she had no patience for his ridiculous fashion choices, but she liked the way the colors brought out his eyes. His clothing always reminded her of plumage, the bright feathers a bird might use to attract attention, and she had always been nothing but fascinated and envious of birds. There was a man at the bar that looked him up and down approvingly. She watched with amusement as he attempted to chat Wilde up, knowing with a deep seated and smug satisfaction that he would be turned down. He was her pretty bird for the night.

He sat back down with two glasses and she climbed back into his lap. They were in a dark enough corner and no one was paying them any attention save for the disappointed man at the bar. She straddled him and tilted her chin up, an invitation for him to put the glass to her lips. She hated it when people assumed that she needed or wanted their help. She was fiercely independent and for the life of her she could not understand why letting him pour whiskey down her throat made her cunt throb. She didn’t understand it, but she ground against him, pleased to no end to find a satisfying hardness to grind against. 

“Mmmm.” He breathed against her neck, making the skin there tingle. “If you keep this up I fear we might go hungry, Amelia.”

She shivered.  _ No one _ called her Amelia. Not even her first mate, but she liked it coming from his mouth, liked the way his voice made it into something pretty and sharp.She’d never corrected him. Her secret. Amelia sunk her teeth into his throat, moving her hips over him again and stifling her moan in his skin. “Not food I’m hungry for.”

His eyes danced and she wasn’t sure she liked that she could match the color of them to a precise shade of sky, that she had in fact done that. (The bruised looking grey blue that set in just as a storm was being blown away). 

They did eat, because she was actually hungry and her stomach had given her away by growling loudly. By the end of dinner her stomach was full and warm with whiskey and all of her focus was on dragging Wilde back to a room and getting his fussy clothing  _ off _ .

She came on his fingers twice before she shoved him onto his back and crawled over him. She held his cock in her hand, shivering with delight the way she always did when she tried and failed to encircle it with her fingers. She slid the head of it back and forth over her dripping cunt and sensitive clit, teasing him and basking in his bitten off curses before finally holding it to her entrance as she slowly, carefully slid down. The stretch was always overwhelming at first, and that feeling like drowning, of taking too much, that spike of adrenaline was what she had always adored about taking partners twice her size to bed. He kept himself still as she rocked, adjusting and panting before beginning to move her hips in careful circles. She took a deep breath in and closed her eyes, felt the way she was filled, stretched and aching in the best possible way. 

It was so intense, every little movement magnified, every space along her inner walls alight with sensation at once and she needed it, adored it. Was anything in life worth feeling if it wasn’t intense?

“Gods,  _ fuck _ , missed you. Missed your giant cock.” She accentuated her words by bouncing enthusiastically up and down. 

He pouted at her with his stupid, pretty lips and his stupid, pretty eyes.

“Nothing big enough to satisfy you in the meantime?” He was teasing her. He was hiding his smirk well but he couldn’t keep it out of his voice, and she didn’t hate it, though she wanted to pretend to, and her body betrayed her by clenching around him because  _ she liked the sound of it. _

He thrust up into her and she gasped, her mouth falling open and she was out of it enough to answer him honestly. “Not even close.”

He smiled at that, a prideful thing that looked good on his face and she wanted to be upset at giving him anything to be proud of, but she couldn’t find it in her, not when every nerve in her body was suffused with pleasure. 

He flipped them over, gently, always gently, before holding her wrists easily together with one hand and purring into her ear. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to make it up to you.” 

He dragged himself almost entirely out of her and then thrust slowly, deeply back in until he was as far as her body would take him and then he ground his hips against her and used the thumb of his free hand to circle her swollen, throbbing clit. 

His breath was so hot against her ear and he loomed over her. He always kept the majority of his weight off of her but when they were like this she was reminded of just how much larger he was than her, just how much of him was  _ inside of her _ .

“We’ll just have to make good use of  _ every,”  _ he dragged his hips backwards, pulling all the way out, “ _ moment,”  _ he hissed into her ear thrusting into her again in one fluid motion that stole the breath from her lungs, before pulling out again, agonizingly slow, “we’ve got.” He sank in again, increasing both the speed and pressure of his thumb on her clit, dancing the rest of his long fingers around her entrance, where she was stretched around him. She screamed and came so hard her vision went white for a brief moment.

He still left early in the mornings. He was, after all, here for work. She rolled over onto her stomach after he’d gone, stretching and liking the ache between her legs. 

They were nothing to each other. She knew this. She fucked a different person in every port she stopped in. She fucked other people here when he wasn’t around. She never thought about any of them alone in her cabin on her ship with her fingers in her cunt, or when the wind had swept the last of a storm away and the sky was that exact color. He reminded her of birds—of birds and the sky.

She loved him. In that irresponsible way she fell in love with everything. The reckless way she’d fallen in love with the sky when she first laid eyes on birds, when she first felt the call, the pull, the desire for the air. The way she loved the adrenaline of fighting, the rush of anger, the buzz of energy drawing blood or having blood drawn brought to life, the way she loved the destruction her gun could cause, an explosive weapon held in her small hand, a power she could hold. And rarely did anything in life inspire her to moderation. 

If she didn’t want to destroy it, she wanted it to consume her.

  
  
  


It had been a couple months since she last saw him, when she found herself in a scrape. Pirates had ambushed her at the docks, looking for cargo more valuable than the coffee she was officially transporting. She’d had a slip up in Prague last month, and now it seemed the secret was partially out. It was inevitable that eventually people would come looking for the more valuable supplies she moved for the Harlequins. 

She trusted her crew. She knew they were capable in a skirmish. Instead of worrying overly much about them, she let the adrenaline of fighting wash over her and made the blood buzz in her veins. She ran through the storage crates on the docks, ducking in and out of cover, drawing her pursuers into a narrow lane away from the rest of her crew, well out of the line of fire. She was headed off by one of them and she cursed at herself, frustrated that she’d lost track of where he was. The two she had been keeping track of were currently cutting off her escape route. 

She drew her gun and pointed it at the man facing her, preparing to shoot him and make a mad dash for it. Before she had her finger on the trigger, the figure at the end of the alley slumped to the ground and behind him was Wilde.  _ What the fuck was he doing here. _

He sauntered towards her. 

“Darling, you seem to have found yourself in a bit of a rough spot, and while I am certain you can take care of yourself, might I offer a smidge of assistance?”

She grit her teeth as the figures at the other end of the alley ran towards them. 

“You might as well make yourself useful.”

She pressed herself to a crate, trying to make herself as small a target as possible while lining up a shot.

“Hold on a moment.”

“What, what are you gonna do?” She hissed. She still couldn’t figure out what he was even doing down here. “You can help me get rid of their bodies after this is done.” 

She lined up her shot and Wilde put a hand on her shoulder, making her lower her gun and shake off a supreme wave of irritation. He had the audacity to wink at her before raising a hand and breaking into a musical sort of lilt that she could barely hear. The men stopped stalking towards them and a moment later turned and fled as if in fear. 

“Saw your ship come in, I figured I’d come looking before I messaged, offer to escort you to dinner for once.” 

“Huh.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Casters were handy. 

“Well, I think you might have some things to take care of around here. Perhaps I’ll see you around later.”

She scrambled up the side of one of the stacks of crates and onto a storage container, surveying the small fights her crew were still embroiled in.

“I mean, you could continue to make yourself useful.” She gestured to the chaos below her. Her crew was winning, of course they were. But if she could get this wrapped up and dealt with without catching any more attention, that would be fan- _ fucking _ -tastic. 

Wilde hesitated and then nodded his head. “Shoot into the air.”

She stared at him, incredulous. This damn thing packed a punch but it took fucking ages to load. She wasn’t going to waste ammunition  _ shooting into the air _ . She continued staring at him as he walked in a tight circle, singing quietly to himself in that same lilting tone and moving his hands. She shrugged her shoulders and aimed into the air. Might as well give it a try. The sound and light that exploded from the barrel were louder and brighter than she remembered them being. Sparks flew out from the barrel after the shot and grew, getting brighter and bigger, transforming themselves into flaming birds as she watched, descending towards the heads of her enemies in a flurry of flaming wings and shrieking cries. She suspected the only reason her crew had stayed firmly rooted to the spot was because they could see her and her gun and they were loyal to the last, even when they didn’t understand, even when they wanted to run.

“It’s fine.” She yelled down to them and they smiled, raising their fists and weapons, crying out in victory. It filled her heart with joy, synergized with the adrenaline bouncing around under her skin, making her feel invincible.

“Let’s get this moving and cleaned up and then rounds are on me!”

More cheering from her crew and she turned to tease Wilde, only to find him gone. 

Oh. 

Well.

If he wanted to meet up later, he knew where to find her. She couldn’t be bothered to care right now.

  
  


She kept the gold coin in her pocket, but it never heated again. Perhaps work had called him away. That was fine. She’d known it was a fling with an expiration date. It still didn’t stop her from thinking about it when she saw birds with blue and green feathers. It still didn’t stop her from hoping that maybe this time the coin would heat as she descended into port. It did not.

She was antsy and she really missed knowing that good lay was waiting for her on the other side of business. Officially, she had an assortment of dried fruit to deliver, but she also had several crates worth of potions, scrolls, and other items that were to be passed on to a cell of Harlequins. She was on edge. Ever since she’d been ambushed last month after her less than perfect supply run to Prague. Those university pricks never appreciated the risk she took delivering there. 

Shaken by the fighting that had broken out last drop, this drop had an added wrinkle to it. They didn’t want to risk being seen at the docks with her ship, afraid that perhaps the authorities were onto them or that more fighting would draw unwanted attention, so she had to go through the rigamarole of offloading and transporting everything to them, too.

They were ambushed at the drop site. Her contact came out to meet them, and his nerves and anxiety shone through his thin veneer of normalcy. He flicked his eyes to the side in warning, and she just had time enough to draw her weapon, before two figures emerged from thin air beside him, whatever invisibility spell had been hiding them broken by their lunge towards her. She had good reflexes and twisted away from them before anything could come of it. She bashed a woman that emerged from the shadows in the jaw with the but of her gun and she slumped to the floor. She and her first mate turned and ran. She recognized meritocratic agents when she saw them and where there were two there was likely to be a whole scourge of them just waiting to crawl out of the woodwork. 

Some of her crew were in over their heads with a caster of some kind and she made to circle around behind them. To do so, she had to navigate her way through the maze of crates, which were stacked so high she could only hear the sounds of scuffle. She turned a corner and her stomach dropped, because standing in front of her, mouth set in a hard, firm line, was Oscar Wilde.

  
  


***

He knew he didn’t love her. Of course he didn’t. But he cared about what happened to her. He  _ liked _ her. She was unapologetically real in a way it was nothing but irresponsible for him to emulate in his own life. Something no one around him ever was, and it was intoxicating. He did not love her, but he could have. The seeds of it were there deep in his chest, smothered with the cold he kept his heart blanketed in.

He hadn’t known at first that she was a Harlequin. She had kept her allegiances quiet enough, but it was only a matter of time until he found out. He’d had his suspicions for a while. The timings of her port stops were too coincidental and he knew that whoever had been making the runs was good, competent—and that she definitely was. He’d suspected enough to rifle through her pockets the last time he’d left her in bed, finding her manifest for Prague. Following her there had only solidified things.

It didn’t make it any easier to do this, to see the true surprise on her face break into something crestfallen enough to pull at his heart before morphing into a mask of steel anger. It was justified.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Her goggles were pushed on top of her head and there was a smear of something, oil or grease perhaps, on one of her sharp cheekbones. She shook her head, clenching her fists at her side. 

“You’re not, you can’t be.”

He pulled his shirt out of his trousers and shoved the waist down, showing her the glittering gold dragon of his brand before clicking his fingers and setting himself to rights again. “I’m afraid I very much can be.”

The confusion and hurt soured into something hungry and cold as she bared her teeth at him and snarled. “You fucking bastard.”

“I didn’t know. Not at the start.”

“You’re a damn liar.” She ripped her gun out of her holster and pointed it at him. 

He clicked his fingers again and she was stilled. “I didn’t know, serendipity that I’d avoided finding out for so long. I didn’t truly suspect until a few months ago, and I wasn’t certain until a month ago. Until you botched your supply run in Prague.”

He stepped closer to her and he saw the tears of frustration in her eyes beginning to spill over. “I was never with you under false pretenses, never for any reason other than that I wanted to be. I know it will be nigh on impossible to make you believe it, but I need to say it.”

He looked over his shoulder, hearing the stirrings of other agents moving about and clearing the scene, engaging in skirmishes. “You’ll be stuck here for another minute or so, and then I reckon you have another few minutes to get away, if you’d like. I’d imagine that if you move quickly you might be able to save your ship.”

Her eyes burned with a hatred so intense he almost couldn’t bear to look. 

“Goodbye Earhart.” He whispered. He saw her eyes flicker and water at the use of her surname before turning away. He slipped silently out the back, not turning to look at her again, no matter how cumbersome the urge to do so grew.

This was supposed to be the right thing. She was a Harlequin, questioning whether or not it was the right thing was not good for self preservation. But he could have done more. He could have shackled her himself, taken away her ship, caged her and clipped her wings. He doubted anyone could keep her that way, but he couldn’t bring himself to be the one to try. If anyone ever found out what he had done, he would have many more marks from the dragons to hide than just his brand.

  
  
  


Years passed before he saw her again. His heart jumped when he caught sight of the gnomes milling about the soaked tarmac in Paris. He knew who it had to be. There was hope. If anyone could get them out it was her. His mind was so addled from the effort of throwing off the poison, so fuzzy with fatigue and exhaustion, he’d somehow convinced himself that maybe she wouldn’t recognize him, or that he would be able to disguise himself in time. He’d forgotten he was completely out of spells. The most important thing was getting his team to Prague. Why the fuck was it always Prague.

He limped away from the airship. There was a shooting pain in his ankle he knew would bloom into swelling soon enough. His eyes stung and he cursed himself for the stupid evidence of emotion. Plenty of people hated him. In fact, at this precise moment in his life, more people that knew him probably hated him than not. This wasn’t news to him. He’d long ago accepted this fate and convinced himself that he didn’t care, and normally he was quite adept at convincing himself he was unbothered. Amelia Earhart hated him. He knew that. Hated him enough to point a gun at him and level him with an expression telling him she would absolutely shoot him. Hated him enough to kick him over the side of her ship. Enough to take pleasure in watching him limp away. He knew she hated him, had known for a very long time. So why did being confronted with it hurt so much?

  
  
  


Life went sideways. Hatred was the emotion he inspired in people now it would seem, and even he wasn’t immune. At least people still thought he was pretty. At least he was still good for something. At least he could handle his team and keep them relatively well informed, well supplied, and out of the worst of the trouble. But no, he couldn’t even do that. 

It wasn’t a question in his mind that she’d survived. But the cost of her survival, the cost of her passion and her hatred, wasn’t a surprise either. That didn’t mean it hurt any less to see. He saw the remnants of her ship and knew it reflected the remnants of her, of whatever state she was in. The splintered and charred ruins of the ship were not a picture that left room for many survivors. 

He tracked her down, spent some time watching her. She was too thin, her hair grown out to her shoulders, and clearly spending more time drunk off her arse than anything else, only ever leaving her room in search of more alcohol. Broken wings. Broken wings that hadn’t been set. He sent Zolf. She needed piecing back together, healing, and if Zolf had managed to do it for him—a creature far less infused with life and energy and stubbornness—he could do it for her.

***

“Because he’s a Meritocratic tool!” Amelia shouted. 

Really, Zolf had seemed reasonable, she couldn’t believe her misfortune. She crossed her arms, trying to look as defiant as was possible while laying in bed and at least fifteen pounds underweight.

“Was that literally the only thing?” Zolf spluttered. 

She was surprised Zolf had been working for the Meritocrats before, but she was too busy thinking about other things to give any spare thought to being mad at him for it.  _ Whatever happened between you and Wilde. _

Better he believe that was the only reason. Easier than admitting that she’d hurt herself on his concealed edges.

The scar was new. She was jealous of whoever had finally managed to give him a mark he couldn’t hide. He made himself scarce. All the better for her. It was enough to deal with the constant barrage of withdrawal symptoms and the constant companion that was her grief and guilt. But it was good to catch a glimpse of him every now and then. Just to remind herself she was still capable of passionate feeling, still capable of something as strong as hatred.

She kept her hate alive and well fed, one of the only things she could draw energy from. He was the closest thing to Guivres she had, and she had herself convinced that she was pleased with his suffering, pleased the stupid songbird couldn’t even sing now. Stupid, flightless bird. Useless wings that she would not admit she still found pretty unless it stoked her hatred more to do so. Hatred was the only thing she had to hold on to, the last hook in a painful reality. The pain was good too. Punishment, penance for her stupid pride. Her crew had believed in her so much that they’d followed her to their deaths and now she was living with the weight of it. If you could call the suicide mission she was on living.

She almost got used to him. It became more of a struggle to hold onto the hatred, but it was easy enough to drag up from the depths. The body switching distracted her. It was disorienting to be in a different body, to suddenly be without the physical symptoms of her addiction. It didn’t help to see all the alcohol on board suddenly collected in one central, very visible place. She knew Zolf was watching her. She didn’t want to disappoint him. When the fuck had that happened. 

She spent time at the bar with the rest of the crew, always in Zolf’s sight. Wilde walked over to her, glass of something in one hand. She pictured throwing him over the side of the ship as he approached. He held the glass out to her. She did not take it.

“There’s no alcohol in it.” He explained, as if that would change her mind.

“Then what the fuck is the point?”

He smiled sadly at her, one side of his mouth oddly frozen, and that made her skin crawl. She did not want his fucking pity. 

“There’s ginger beer in it. Supposed to be good for the stomach I think?”

She stomped away to play darts. Zolf set the glass beside her and gave her a pointed look to which she responded by rolling her eyes. She did not have the hang of the kobold body she was in, but she was still a fair shot at darts. It was distracting enough that she picked the glass up when she got thirsty and it was only when the tart taste of ginger exploded on her tongue that she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be drinking it.

Zolf did a decent job of hiding it, and Wilde wasn’t seen above decks often, but she saw how he looked at Wilde. Saw how Wilde looked at him. She wondered if the dwarf knew how big his cock was, or how talented his mouth was when it was doing something better than talking. She wondered idly if he’d ever heard him sing. She’d only heard it the once, the soft whispered lilting as he cast, though gods knew that the sounds he made sometimes were close enough. She wondered why she was so bitter about that. She told herself it was because she liked Zolf and she didn’t want her first mate tainted by his apparently atrocious taste in companions.

  
  


Zolf proved himself to be unmatched in his competence once again as they made their way through the second aurora. The pounding headache and wave of nausea that greeted her upon waking were enough to tell her that she was back in her own body. She did not have time to dwell on it. 

Her first reaction to crashing was apathy. This might as well happen. The ship had been built to be destroyed, the safety of her crew hadn’t really registered in her initial plan. Because she hadn’t thought of them as her crew then. There was no one that could replace the people she’d lost. But here they were, on her ship, keeping it running, and trying to stop it from falling out of the sky. There was nothing to be done. The best thing they could do was go down on their terms. 

So many people were thrown over the side she didn’t see them all. It was different enough to being engulfed in flames that she managed to stay in the here and now, managed to keep herself from seeing visions of her ship in flames, crew members burned and bloodied bodies scattered across the deck. 

It was not until they landed that she realized the extent of the damage. She was not a healer. There was not much she could do but stay out of the way. 

She watched Zolf pull him off the spike. One of the sharp pieces she had insisted upon. She supposed they were even now. She stared at him, trying desperately to get a hold of whatever was happening in her head. She shouldn’t care that he was dead, or she should have been glad to be rid of him. Instead, she felt numb, with a hazy kind of sadness and guilt creeping in around the edges. It was perhaps the only thing she had ever managed to feel for him in moderation. His clothes were ridiculously colored from the aurora, reminding her of his bright waistcoats and shirt jackets, the ones that reminded her of brightly feathered birds. 

She’d never regretted the comparison so much.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh! I started writing this in November and I'm just so happy to finally post it. I hope you enjoyed reading my darlings. There may or may not be a sequel.


End file.
